Part 6 (2/2)

The boy removed a small dagger from his waist. It was the only weapon he had, and the only one his father had taught him to use. The barrel-chested man laughed loudly at the weapon. ”You challenge me with that? It delivers only a little p.r.i.c.k.”

The crowd laughed at the joke, but the boy cut the laughter short with his terse reply.

”You should know. Perhaps that's why your wife's eye wanders.”

The man turned crimson as the crowd laughed even more at his expense. He drew his own dagger and stood ready. ”Come on, boy,” he growled, ”I'll cut that sharp tongue of yours.”

”Not likely with so dull a wit.”

The man's face appeared apoplectic and he charged. The boy easily sidestepped him and he went barreling into the crowd, which caught him and pushed him back into the clearing.

The boy watched the man warily. He was large and strong, but he was clumsy and slow. He charged again and the boy easily sidestepped once more, this time snaking the knife outward and drawing blood from the man's side.

The man howled in fury and pain as the crowd laughed. The boy stood staring at the blood pouring from the man's side. It made him feel light-headed and strange, as if his body was suddenly weightless. He stood rooted as the man charged him.

It appeared to the crowd the boy was frozen in terror. They leaned forward expectantly, awaiting his comeuppance. The barrel-chested man charged forward, screaming obscenities at him.

The boy felt as if he were moving in slow motion. Indeed, his movements appeared almost languid to the mob as he gracefully side-stepped once more, this time slas.h.i.+ng out and upward at the man's throat.

The big man stopped abruptly, clutching the suddenly gaping wound on his neck. Blood spurted between his fingers as he crumpled to his knees, then went facedown into the dirt.

Loud cheers erupted from the crowd and the boy was surrounded by congratulatory men and women who pounded him on the back. The woman he had spoken for pushed through the crowd and they all stepped back, creating a small clearing.

”Here you are, boy.” She held the small purse above her head and eyed the crowd. ”Let it be known I am innocent of all charges!”

”Yeah right, Gert, until next time!” someone yelled from the crowd. This comment was greeted by much laughter and the woman herself cackled as she handed the purse to the boy. She winked at him and smiled a toothless smile. ”Perhaps a lad as handsome as you would like a greater reward.”

The boy took the purse and simply nodded to the crone, then pushed his way through the crowd. It appeared Gert was immediately forgiven because everyone knew the Lord worked in mysterious ways. She went off to drink with her accusers-turned-exculpators.

The boy went to the stalls in the small marketplace to buy supplies. He eyed some fresh bread and was just about to make an offer when he noticed the proprietor.

The man was short and completely bald, but that was not what attracted the boy's attention. The boy was staring at the stump where the man's right hand used to be. The man was trying to hide it within his clothing, but the k.n.o.b protruded. The boy glanced back up into the man's eyes. He knew dismemberment was often the punishment for perjury; obviously this man had no one to fight for him, or the champion he had chosen had lost.

The boy looked back down at the bread. That was probably why the man had so much fresh bread. People were horrified by any type of deformity. Those unlucky enough to be deformed or dismembered were often killed; at the very least they were shunned.

The boy did not share this horror, but he was not above taking advantage of it. He offered the man but a few pence for the lot, knowing the man had little choice but to take it.

CHAPTER 12.

SUSAN THUMBED THROUGH VARIOUS CHARTS, glancing at the woman through the gla.s.s. She had found so many unique things about her anatomy that just about any randomly performed test would yield a surprise.

”Mommy, what are you doing?”

Susan glanced over at her red-haired son patiently. She felt so guilty about being away from him on the weekend that when he asked to come to work with her, she consented after only a little cajoling. She packed a bag full of toys and books and brought them to the lab with her. He had spent the last few hours alternately napping, playing, reading, and asking her what she was doing.

”I'm trying to find this woman's digestive system.”

Jason wrinkled his brow. ”Oh,” he said thoughtfully, ”she's pretty.”

Susan glanced at her son fondly as he returned to his blocks. He had a 5-year-old's gift of understatement. She glanced at the woman sleeping peacefully in the other room. She was strikingly beautiful. Susan turned her attention back to the doc.u.mentation of the woman's internal anatomy.

Although she could find little that was identifiable in the digestive system, the renal system was remarkably similar to what it should be. Both kidneys were functioning, although they did not appear to be doing what normal kidneys did.

To Susan's knowledge, the woman had absorbed no nutrients from the feeding tube and therefore elimination had not been necessary. Beyond the fact that Susan had no idea how the woman survived without eating or eliminating waste, she could not decipher exactly what the kidneys were doing.

Until she had glanced at the charts in front of her. The levels of erythropoietin were sky-high in the woman's kidneys. Erythropoietin was a substance synthesized by the kidneys to increase red blood cell production in bone marrow. This rather p.r.o.nounced increase of red blood cells would boost endurance by promoting elevated oxygen delivery to muscles. It was the theory behind ”blood doping” which athletes often attempted to increase performance.

The problem was that the level in the woman's body should have created too many blood cells. She should have ”polycythemia vera,” or in layman's terms, blood the consistency of glue. Susan glanced at the sleeping woman. Her blood should be too thick to supply oxygen delivery and thick enough to at least cause a stroke, if not death.

But instead, she just slept peacefully on.

Susan sighed and sat down.

Susan glanced at the EEG. It was the same pattern as always; the only difference was the degree. The glowing line traced out alpha waves, signaling alertness. Susan glanced in at the woman, who appeared asleep as always. Rarely did theta waves show up on the monitor, and never beta waves. Susan sat down heavily. What she wouldn't give to know what was going on in that woman's head.

It was nearly three years before the boy returned to his village. He was taller, though still slender, and he had been hardened by the life he had led. His sword had been instrumental in many battles, and although he was but 18 years old, he was proclaimed a man among men.

He was dusty and tired, and his horse was thirsty. Judging by the position of the sun, his village should be another hours ride.

He stopped at a stream and allowed his horse to drink. He waded into the water, fully clothed, and doused himself. He remounted his horse and continued on his way.

Although his senses were always keen, perhaps it was the stench of battle still in his nostrils that at first caused the scent of smoke and death to elude him. The smell finally intruded upon his awareness and a look of concern crossed his features. He kicked his horse into a gallop.

He topped the rise above his village, but the familiar sight of the huts was not what greeted him. Instead, he was welcomed by burned out hulks and smoldering ashes. His jaw clenched, he rode slowly down into his home. He had not missed this act by more than a day.

Bodies were strewn amongst the wreckage, and although he had seen carnage in battle, none of it affected him the way this did. He moved to where his hut had stood, and although he did not recognize the burned corpses, he knew them to be his mother and father.

The cry of a nearby winged scavenger attracted his gaze and he dismounted and chased the bird away. The body the bird was attempting to feed off was that of a young woman. It took the boy a moment to recognize the young girl he had saved from the priest seasons ago. Her body was not burned, but she had been run through with a sword. Judging by the blood between her legs, she had been run through by more than a sword before dying. The boy clenched his jaw tighter.

The sun was nearly setting by the time the boy finished. He buried the young girl; everything else he burned to the ground. His fatigue left him, replaced by an icy coldness much stranger than the fierce anger he felt in battle.

He examined the immediate area. It was not difficult to find the trail of the men who had committed this act; no one in the village owned horses. He started out in the black of night, following a spa.r.s.e trail that seemed as clear as day to him.

The sun rose and set twice more before the boy caught up with the men. He had not slept and did not feel the need to. It was early morning and the men were breaking camp as the boy peered at them from the bushes. Their laughter increased the coldness inside of him.

He recognized one of the men. It was the one called Derek who had tried to kill him when the Man had stepped in and taken him away. The boy knew he had found the band that had destroyed his village.

As a soldier, he had learned to count the number of the enemy. He counted twelve now. One man approached the underbrush near the boy and began to relieve himself. The boy slipped up silently behind the man, placed his hand over the man's mouth and then slit his throat from ear-to-ear with his short sword. He quietly lowered the dead man to the ground.

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